Salt in the Wound
by Supernova95
Summary: After the Boomerang situation in Red Robin Tim finds himself cut off from all communication from Bruce and the Bats, not willing to be the one who gives up his stance on the issue he makes the decision to ignore it, hoping that it will go away. It's a decision, he finds, that may cost him his life.
1. Tim

Tim sighed as he reached for his cowl. It had been a week since Boomerang and his… discussion (was that the right word?), no, _confrontation_ with Bruce, and in all that time he had not heard a word from the man. That he understood, he was well versed in the 'I'm disappointed in you' silence, what made him sigh, what made him feel like he was being stabbed in the chest, was that in this whole time he hadn't heard a word from Dick either.

That was a punch to the stomach.

He didn't think that his brother would give into Bruce so readily, that Dick would _agree_ with his punishment and not even pop over to talk about it. Tim fiddled a bit with the cowl's communication device, switching between frequencies, trying to pick _something_ up. Dick's probably just busy with… you know, being Batman, wrangling Damian. Busy. He's probably had the 'Bruce is disappointed in Tim' speech and decided there's not much he can do until Bruce has calmed down a bit.

At least that's what Tim's been telling himself for the last week.

He could hack into whichever encoded transmission they've been using, but then he'd probably have to deal with another confrontation with Bruce and an even longer time out of the loop. It's just not worth it. He could go over to the Bunker, but he's also tired and really can't deal with the looks he'd get right now. Or _Damian_.

It shouldn't be more than another couple of days, maybe up to a week, depending on how much Bruce is even in Gotham with all his Batman Inc. work. He's only ever been kept out of the loop longer when Bruce was accused of murder, but Tim guesses he probably shouldn't compare this situation to that one; here he's in the wrong, it's not like before with Slade. The longest Bruce has kept him out of the loop due to his disappointment was four days, when Tim had accessed some files he really shouldn't have. Then again in Bruce's eyes almost killing Boomerang was a much graver offence.

Tim closed his eyes trying to control his breathing, and in turn the stabbing pain in his chest. He hated disappointing people; _that_ had been ingrained in him for as long as he could remember, probably being due to his parents' distance during his childhood or some other shit. It wasn't something he should e thinking about now. Not when he had patrol, not when people could be relying on him. He can't afford to be distracted.

People die when you're distracted.

Patrolling is _different_ when you're in the dark, Tim's been doing this for a week and he's still trying to get used to the lack of chatter in his ear. It's strange and to say it's disconcerting is putting it mildly; it was like losing his safety net. The knowledge that you didn't need to necessarily need to say anything and help would be at hand, just breathe wrong and someone's (Dick's) asking if you're okay.

Tim was thankful that this was a light night; he ran his route three times, stopping two muggings and an attempted rape before calling it a night and heading home, he had a busy day at work tomorrow anyway.

 _You never know, maybe Bruce will be in the office and they could have a civil talk_.

Yeah, Tim didn't think so either.

* * *

Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Oh yeah Tim, to stop someone thinking you're Red Robin fake a _spinal_ injury, that's not going to take a toll on you when you have to fake it. Not at all.

 _Ugh_. Tim trudged out to the sidewalk awkwardly, his satchel kept bashing against the crutches, buckling him at each step, but at least there would be a car waiting for him outside.

Or not.

Tim checked his watch, 7:35am, he wasn't early, and in fact he was late. So where was the car? It wasn't a weekend (he'd checked, he's done that one before) and he definitely said he was coming in this week.

At 7:50 Tim gave in and called a cab, at least he'll have something new to complain to Tam about when he gets in. _When_ he gets in, Gotham traffic at this time in the morning is going to be murder; Bruce is so paying for this cab bill.

It takes an hour to get downtown. If he rushes he should be able to make the 9am board meeting, dependent on how fast the elevator is, of course. Tim awkwardly waves a crutch to Maggie, their receptionist, on his way through,

"Mr Wayne you-"

"I know, I know, I'm late, I'm going as fast as I can. Stupid Traffic." He replied as he gets to the elevator almost as quickly as he would have without his impairment. The board meeting is on the fiftieth floor so he doesn't have time to visit his office, as he would have liked, but heads straight to the meeting, hoping he's not that late.

"I'm sorry I'm late, traffic was- Bruce?" What was Bruce doing here; he'd given up the day-to-day running of Wayne Enterprises to Tim when he started Batman Inc. What's going on? "What are you doing here?"

Bruce was stoic in his expressionless demeanour and Tim's eyes darted to the other board members, all of whom looked sheepish, not willing to meet Tim's eyes.

"What's going on?" Tim said to no one in particular, but keeps his eyes firmly on Bruce's.

"Lucius." Is all Bruce has to say and the poor man is stepping outside with Tim.

"Tim, lets go for a walk, there seems to have been a lack of communication somewhere." And that was definitely aimed at Bruce.

Tim narrowed his eyes,

"Lucius, what's going on?"

The man glanced back at Bruce before putting an arm around Tim's shoulders and guiding him out of the door, gently closing it behind them.

"Tim,"

Tim did not like that tone; it was the consoling tone everyone used to break bad news to him. Tim had heard it far too much recently; in his heart of hearts Tim knew nobody had died but it was a tone that still made his heart skip a beat.

"Bruce has re-taken control of Wayne Enterprises, it was finalised over the weekend… he said you wanted to re-focus on school. I just assumed you-" He trailed off, Lucius just assumed Tim knew, wanted to go back to school, were finding it too much. Take your pick.

Bruce was well within his rights to retake control in his family's company, and the fact that he told the company-

Pain twisted through his chest, Tim had once again had the one stable thing in his life taken away from him, like a rug pulled from under him with not a thought for his well being from the puller.

Tim rested his hand on Lucius' shoulder, hoping to comfort the man who had become like a second (third?) father to him,

"It's not your fault Lucius, Bruce and I had a bit of an argument. This probably just skipped his mind." Tim was lying through his teeth. Lucius knew it but neither of them mentioned anything, preferring instead to let the awkward silence hang. Tim was determined not to make a scene that would further the embarrassment that was sure to come when this was leaked to the press.

"I'm guessing I should clear my desk?"

"I- yes. That would probably be best. I'll call Tam and have her come help you with everythi-"

Tam burst through the elevator doors looking rather dishevelled, "Tim! I'm so sorry! Maggie literally just called me to say you'd arrived at work, and I'm so sorry, I thought you knew and were just being your usual broody self about not telling me, I didn't think- Dad?!" She looked at Lucius as thought she was seeing him for the first time.

"Don't worry Tam, there was a lack of communication on Bruce's part, we'll talk more in my office, 'kay?"

She absently nodded, heading back to the elevator glancing back at her dad ever few steps.

"It's not his fault." Tim reassured her.

The walk to his office seemed painfully slow, but that was probably just Tim's perception. It was only now that he realised just how messy his office was, now that he needed to clear it out.

"Well the good news is that most of this is now Bruce's problem." He said shrugging at the mountains of paperwork filling every available surface; he was going to miss working on these projects, especially Neon Knights, Tim was really getting somewhere with the NK project. Tam looked at him incredulously, then her face fell.

"So what's going on?" she asked, her voice softer than Tim had heard in a long time.

"Bruce and I had… an argument? Well it was more that I almost made a stupid decision and he has chosen to show is disappointment in me by, well, cutting off all communication."

"And taking back CEO duties of Wayne E."

"Yeah, well that's more him telling me that he no longer trusts me."

"Wow. Okay, your family…"

"Yeah."

They worked in silence for a while as they searched through the piles for anything that wasn't Wayne Enterprises related. Although Tim had become accustomed to silence, it was comfortable with Tam; he didn't have to fill the void with mindless chatter like he did with Dick or the Titans. It was nice. In the end Tim had a neat little box of the few possessions he kept in his- _Bruce's_ \- office.

"So… what are you going to do?" Tam asked, carrying the box for him as they left.

"Honestly? I don't know. I probably should go back to school… or at least test out for my GED. After that, I guess I could take some online college courses, get some of my amazing skills certified." He waggled his eyebrows and Tam snorted.

"That is not a good look on you."

"No?"

"Oh god! No! Stop it!" She laughed.

The elevator slowed to a stop in the parking garage, Tim took a breath; this was it. He should be angry, he should be upstairs screaming at Bruce, not caring about the scene he would be making. He should care more, but he just felt numb. Seeing Bruce in that boardroom had been a punch in the stomach, seeing the company car and driver in front of him was like being thrown in an ice bath.

Tam gave the box to the driver, asking him to make sure he gets it into Tim's apartment.

"Hey, don't be a stranger…"

"Of course not, I mean we're still _engaged_ , so, how about dinner at mine on Wednesday?" Tim smiled, trying to be comforting. He wasn't the only one blindsided by this.

Tam smiled, "It's a date."

She stood in the garage long after the car had sped off into downtown Gotham.

* * *

It didn't take long for the numbness to give way to anger and Tim may have to apologise to his fake fish for the ferocity that he opened his Robincave with. _What right did Bruce have to do that to him?_ The punching bag jostled violently with each punch he landed. _Without so much as a conversation? Who does he think he is?_ A well-aimed kick put a large dent in the side of his training dummy _. Just because he's the freakin' Batman means he thinks he can do whatever he likes._ In his frustration Tim missed the dummy completely, landing flat on his back. _Fuck_.

He spent the whole day punching inanimate objects in the hope that it will make him feel better; spoiler it didn't. By the time he should have been heading out for patrol he was collapsed in his bed, exhausted, and not planning on moving for at least eight hours.

Why was this his life?

* * *

Dinner with Tam was… nice, especially after the news of his usurping his position in W.E. hit the newspapers. Tim was pretty sure that Vicky Vale had a tent set up outside of his apartment in the hope of catching him for a comment. He's not left his apartment since Monday, they must think he's pathetic… he is being a little pathetic; Tim had just hoped that when the story broke Dick would visit. _He's too busy to visit, Tim you know that._

He's just being pathetic. He should just go visit the penthouse, but there was that part of him that was still seething in anger, so that was probably not the best course of action. It would also indicate to Bruce that he was right, and Tim was nothing if not stubborn (so was Bruce, god they made a right pair), he was not the one in the wrong this time.

Instead he decided to go back out on patrol, beating up a few thugs instead of training dummies should so him some good. Just a few loops round the patrol route and home, that way he won't run into anyone that may not be too happy to see him. It's probably best for all of them if he just stays out of the way for a bit.

It was a cold night in Gotham and as Tim made his way out for patrol he made note not to stay out too long. The last thing he needed right now was to come down sick.

Being out on the rooftops was like a breath of fresh air; Tim didn't realised how much he needed it, what with all his wallowing. Nothing could beat the feeling of being Red Robin. He was out and flying, the weight of his cape fluttering behind him was familiar and comforting, the churning in his stomach was finally beginning to lift for the first time since his trip to Wayne Enterprises.

A scream shattered his reunion with the rooftops.

All play and no work meant Red Robin had a lot of energy to kill, and what better way to expend it than saving someone in distress. Six thugs were surrounding a woman wearing a uniform from the diner just down the street.

He dropped into the alleyway with a smirk, making as much noise as possible as his feet hit the cold Gotham concrete. The thugs all turned towards him, a couple were scared at the presence of a Bat, the rest looked at him as though they'd broken into Gotham National Bank and he was the gold. The woman took the intrusion as a means of escape and quickly ran out of the alley.

That's good; at least she has a sense of survival and wouldn't be hurt in what came next.

"Six on one? Now how is that fair?" He quipped as he readied his feet for the fight.

* * *

He didn't see the gun.

* * *

Tim extends his staff, pain radiated in his stomach, he had to make this quick,

"Red Robin to all points, I could use some assistance in an alley off 5th and Hamilton." Tim could tell his voice was steeped in pain; hopefully someone was listening. He silently cursed himself for not pressing the communication issue, especially as Barbara was off on vacation with her father. It would be this week he got himself into trouble.

With his injury dispatching the thugs was harder than it should be. His kicks were painful and week, he couldn't put the power or momentum into them to make them effective. He managed to knock out two of the thugs by making them run themselves into walls, but there were still four more out there.

Stun, kick, punch, move, repeat. Two more went down, but Tim's head was starting to get fuzzy. One of the men was swinging a pipe so Tim tried to dodge, his brain said duck left but he just couldn't move in time; his body couldn't keep up with his mental reactions. The pipe hit his side and Tim crumpled to the ground. The wound in his stomach was seeping blood, he had to-

Pipe guy hit him again, harder this time. Tim couldn't breathe. He could feel his ribs crack, and the guy laughed. They kicked Tim so that he rolled onto his back, and Tim could do nothing but staring up into the Gotham night as one of the men stamped on his stomach.

He screamed in pain. It came out as some horrifying gargle as Tim could taste blood in his mouth. He couldn't breathe and the man stamped on him again.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Tim came to in pain. His breath was short and painful but he was breathing. That had to be a good sign. He tried to open his eyes but his face must have been pretty swollen as all he could manage was peering through his eyelashes. There was a figure looming over him. Tim flinched away.

In what little he could see, the figure held up their hands. They were murmuring something, low and almost melodic. It was soothing and something in Tim immediately calmed down. He knew he probably shouldn't but it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it anyway.

"…Tim… hold on… get you home…" the figure (man?) was saying something and as hard as Tim tried to pay attention it was like he was underwater and he just couldn't hear, but he sounded so familiar.

"Bruce?" His voice was no more than a whisper, but the man had to have heard it, he was so close. It had to be Bruce. A gloved hand came up to his face a tried to remove the cowl, his breath hitched at the pain that came with the attempt and the hand retreated.

"Bruce… you came." Tim smiled, agony ripped through him as Bruce picked him up and Tim could tell he was about to pass out again, but it didn't matter; Bruce was here and everything was going to be okay.


	2. Jason

It was a cold night in Gotham and sitting on the cold concrete roof of a building did not help matters. Shouldn't be long now, just have to wait for the buyer, then Jason could bust his ass, get that shit off the streets and be home in time for a late dinner and some Ks before heading out to see his lieutenants in the morning. All in a day's work… well day and a bit. Trying to control crime in Gotham wasn't easy.

Dick called him a crime lord, and, although he could see the similarities, crime lords usually try to create crime, Jason's just trying to direct it. Keep the kids safe from drugs and keep the prostitutes safe from Johns and pimps; he was just trying to keep his corner of Gotham a little safer. After all it's not like he ever saw the Bats come round. Not to these down-and-out places, where living in a box in a draughty alleyway was a better life than in an apartment with abusive guardians. Where children would look up to the skies in the hope that someday the Batman himself would swoop down and save them.

No, Bruce was too busy for these parts. He only came here if a case prescribed it, and even then he wouldn't let any of his protégés down here, it's too dangerous. Which was why he was so surprised to see Red Robin running over his rooftops a few months back. Turned out the kid had moved into the theatre opposite Crime Alley. He always was a little too obsessed with Bruce to be healthy.

Then again, Jason couldn't be bothered with what the Pretender was up to, or at least he tried to tell himself that, because ever since the kid turned up in Gotham word had it that the Replacement had been becoming more and more like him. Then he stole his other suit, and Jason couldn't see past his anger yet again.

But there was always that voice in the back of his head,

"Be my Robin," and God did he mean it. Still did.

His helmet was getting tight, claustrophobic, and for a moment he was struggling to breathe. Jason released the clasps and pulled the signature helmet off, taking a deep gulp of semi-fresh Gotham air as he did.

It would mean he wouldn't get any Bat comms whilst it was off, but it didn't matter, O was the only one that talked to him often anyway, and she was away this week. Everything else was mindless chatter between N and Robin or Bruce and his birds. He still had his old communicator in his ear though, it wasn't as high tech and secure as the new system, but he liked to have it in just in case someone managed to hack in to call for help, he needed to be prepared.

Gotham had a biting wind at this time of year, at all times of year really, and Jason could feel it starting to burn his cheeks. The sting grounded him; the feeling was just so… Gotham. It reminded him why he was here and what he was fighting for. Gotham.

The sound of a car brought Jason back to the situation at hand. The buyer was here. Good, Jason smiled, he needed some—

"Red Robin to all points, I could use some assistance in an alley off 5th and Hamilton." Jason was startled at first, he wasn't wearing his hood so it took him a moment to realise the call came over his earpiece. Then the confusion set in, why would the Bats be using the old system?

Jason waited a moment for the inevitable reply from one of the others confirming they were on their way, but it never came.

Jason's brow furrowed, the drug deal forgotten.

There was pain seeped in Tim's voice and surely the others had heard? _Unless they were no longer monitoring the old comm lines_. Then why would Red Robin be using it? If he knew they weren't using the line…

A painful gasp and moan came through the comm and the answer hit him like a freight train.

The kid didn't know.

He's running before he can think. Hamilton and 5th's not that far, he can make it in four minutes tops; Jason just hopes that's fast enough.

He can hear the fight two streets away, the metal clanging of a pipe on brick filling his ears. _If it's just a guy with a metal pipe how is the kid having such a hard time dispatching him?_ A dull thud rang out followed by a short cry and moments later a bloodcurdling scream. Jason's heart skipped a beat and he threw himself into the alley as fast as he physically possibly could.

Jason was almost too late.

One minute he's dropping into the alleyway, the next he's bashing a guy's brains in with a metal pipe. He drops, unmoving, and Jason lets the pipe fall to the floor. He didn't intend to do that but the sight of the kid in a blood soaked suite, being beaten to death with a pipe… he'd seen red.

Tim probably wouldn't care anyway.

… _Tim_ …

"Fuck."

It was bad. Bad enough that Jason couldn't tell where the suit ended and the blood began.

 _Fuck_.

He had to get him to the cave… the bunker… the hospital if necessary. He leaned over, checking the kid's airways. His breathing was wet and bubbly. Shit that was Really Bad.

"Kid, c'mon, please don't die on me. Tim, I need you to hold on buddy, I'm gonna get you home 'kay?"

"Bruce?" Jason's heart dropped at the small whisper.

Fuck.

The kid thought he was Bruce, the man who probably had no idea his son was slowly bleeding out in a back alley in fuck knows where Gotham.

Tim sucked in a breath. It sounded short and painful; Jason had to get the cowl off, it can't be doing anything to help him. As Jason slowly nudged the cowl up he could see the swollen, blood dried bruises forming on the kid's face, and Tim flinched away from his touch.

"Tim, can you hear me? I need to move you okay?"

"Bruce… you came."

"Fuck," Jason cursed as he lifted Tim as gently as he could into his arms. It ripped a scream from him anyway. Tim's head rolled onto his shoulder, he was out cold and it was probably for the best.

He carried Tim gingerly to the main street, cursing himself for not picking up his helmet in his rush to get over; he could really use a pick up about now. Instead, he scanned the street for anyone getting in or out of their car, not wanting to put Tim down or jostle him more than necessary.

"Oh thank God," he sighed in relief. There was someone just parking about fifty yards up the road. "Hey man, I need to borrow your car!" Jason shouted at him.

The man, probably in his early thirties, startled. He numbly handed over his keys and even opened the passenger side door so Jason could slip Tim in.

"Thanks, I'll bring it back," Jason told him before driving carefully away.

He won't, but he'll make sure Wayne Enterprises, Batman Inc. or whatever it was nowadays, delivered a new one. The bloodstains would never come out anyhow.

* * *

The journey to the bunker was taking too long, but the last thing Jason wanted was to damage Tim further. So he drove swiftly, but carefully, exploiting the traffic light controller Babs had set up for him as much as possible.

He dialed the bunker, hoping that at this time of night it would be Alfred who answered.

"Master Jason, to what do I owe the pleasure?" _Thank God_.

"Alf… you need to get the med bay ready. It's Tim and… it's bad."

Silence rang over the line, though Jason could swear he heard the old man take a shaky breath.

"Understood Master Jason," came the reply; the line clicked off and the bunker doors opened.

"Not long now Timmy, you're gonna be okay. Alf will fix you right up," Jason said, mostly to himself. The only reason he knew he wasn't talking to a corpse was the shaky rasps he could hear every few seconds.

Fuck.

To his relief there were no other vehicles in the Bunker, both Bruce and his birds must be out for the night. He pulled up as close as possible to the med bay, leaving just enough room to get Tim out and onto the gurney.

"My god!" The butler gasped, eyes wide, as he looked up from reading the med bay. His face paled, and he briefly hesitated in horror, before getting back to business. "Bring him here gently, we must get that suit off him as soon as possible and stop the bleeding."

Jason could do nothing but nodd and gently collect Tim from the passenger seat, setting him down on the cot and looking to Alfred for his next instruction.

"Good, now bring me the scissors in the top draw of the cabinet to your left."

Jason did as asked, as Alfred slipped some gloves over his medical gown. The butler was focused on the wound when he returned, trying to find the best place to but the suit off.

"Master Jason, I am going to need you to hold Master Timothy on his side, the suit is only going to come off by cutting the seam on his back."

Tim groaned as they moved him, but thankfully did not regain consciousness. Alfred's practiced hands quickly cut the suit from Tim's small body, until they could carefully peal off both the undersuit and armour.

Tim's was a collage of bruises cuts and welts and Jason could pick out almost all the places he was hit with the pipe by eye. _Surely his armour should have protected him better than that?_

Jason saw red.

"Where's Bruce?" The question came out as far too much of a growl, but the point stood.

Alfred looked up from his work, "Master Bruce is working late at the office," he said, his tone seeped in disappointment. "Master Jason, I need you to put some gloves on, I am going to need some help."

* * *

By the time Jason got to Bruce's office he was seething in anger, fist clenched around Tim's blood stained suit.

"Good evening Jason, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Bruce said, not even having the audacity to look up from his desk. He threw the suit, letting himself smirk, satisfied, as it hit the man in the face with a squelch.

Jason had debated the entire drive whether to confront Bruce with or without his helmet on, as much as he wanted to let Bruce see his righteous anger, the impassionate blank stare of the mask would probably unnerve the man more. Jason tried hard to hold back a growl as the man looked up at him, unconcerned. Behind the mask he seethed.

"I hope your pleased with yourself," he said, finally, as he regain control of his breathing. "Do you even care? That you've failed, that another one of your Robins is dead? Shot and beated to death in a back alley that the rest of you haven't bothered patrolling in months."

"I-" the man faltered and Jason could see the recognition, the sudden change in the man. His eyes widened, his breath hitched the smallest amount. "He's-?"

"Gone. All because you... what? Didn't update his communicator as... _punishment_?" his voice lowering to a disbelieving growl. "I can't imagine what he would have to do to receive such a harsh punishment. It can't be kill someone, I regularly shoot people to death and I still got a fancy new helmet. And to be honest the kid didn't seem like the type to be able to go through with it. Hell, your own kid straight up decapitated a minor crook when he first arrived.

"So what was it huh? Did he plan on blowing up half the city? Finally going off and joining Ra's? Turn into Anakin when I wasn't looking and murder a bunch of children? What was it Bruce? 'cuase whatever it was I can guarantee you, me and your kid's done worse."

Bruce looked at the suit in his hands and Jason could see the blood slowly staining both them and his shirt. It occurred to him, with a measure of glee, that he's probably ruined a suit worth more than his yearly rent.

"He set Boomerang up."

Jason was floored... the Kid had actually done it? He'd killed someone? _Jesus_ had Jason read him wrong. Tim was such a goodie two shoes that Jason had him as the least likely of them to do the deed; behind even Bruce for God's sake. Jason didn't think he'd have the guts, that his sense of right and wrong was so strict that he'd have an aneurism just thinking about it.

Boy, was he ever wrong.

"The kid did it? He killed Boomerang?"

"No. He set him up, couldn't go through with it."

Jason couldn't help but laugh, broken and disbelieving, at his 'father'.

"I'm sorry, I thought you just said that you got the kid killed because he _didn't_ kill someone. I realise that I must of misheard you, because even _you_ can't be that egotistical."

"I- he- it was meant to dissuade him from patrolling."

"Dissuade him from patrolling? Have you ever actually met Tim? I beat the crap out of him, twice, Damian almost killed him, he stole my other suit when he was convinced you were alive and everyone told him he was crazy. Simply cutting him off from the comms upgrade wasn't going to stop him from patrolling," Bruce looked away guiltily, "What else did you do?"

"I took back control of Wayne Enterprises."

Jason let out a low growl. That must have hurt. Wayne Enterprises had become Tim's life, managing the company whilst Bruce was off setting up his Batman Inc. It was something even Jason knew the kid to the utmost pride in, having it ripped away from him, well Jason knows what it's like to be reckless when he's emotional.

He couldn't stand to be there anymore, he had more important places to be.

"Jason, I'm so-" Bruce said as he turned to leave,

"Fuck you Bruce, I'm not even remotely close the person you should be apologising to." He opened the window he'd come in by, and paused before he jumped out "I hope you can live with yourself."


	3. Dick

Something was wrong. Dick could feel it from the moment the doors to the bunker opened, something bad had happened, it churned like butterflies in his gut. Pulling the Batmobile into its usual spot had him slamming on the breaks to avoid hitting an abandoned civilian car that is definitely not one of Bruce's. It had obviously been parked in a hurry, the car, barely in the parking space, its front doors left wide open.

Dick was out of the Batmobile in seconds, ignoring Damian's sarcastic remarks. Something was very wrong.

The smell hit him first. The coppery tang of blood hung, oppressive, in the air; like Gotham's summer smog, suffocating.

There was so much blood.

From the abandoned car to the med bay large red droplets were splattered carelessly across the metal floor and Dick found himself suddenly aching for the dark and dirty cave, where such things couldn't be seen in the low lights. He quickly discarded the cowl and cape, in favour of the faster movement and vaulted the stairs to the med bay, his stomach churning, anxiety wracking him as to who it could be. The churning worsening as, approaching the med bay, he could finally make out the bloody handprints and smudges of someone being rushed in for medical attention.

His immediate worry was for Bruce, though he had told them that he needed to catch up on some work for WE and that he wouldn't be going out that evening. Then he thought maybe something happened to Alfred when he was working in the bunker, though, if that were so, no doubt Bruce would be down here, himself, fretting over the elderly butler.

Cass, Steph and Babs were all out of town so that left only two people and he highly doubted Jason would come to the Bunker for help, which left only,

"Tim!" Dick gasped under his breath.

Peering through the glass on the med bay's doors, dick caught sight of him. He was so pale, there were bloody sheets everywhere, he was hooked up to a ventilator, heart monitor, IV and goodness knows what else. He was almost more medical equipment than human. Looking up Dick could see Alfred and Doctor Thompkins, diligently working on Tim, their movements effective and efficient; a tell-tale sign of having been called upon too often. He hadn't seen his brother look so frail since the Clench, his pale skin making the blood… his blood all the more stark.

He looked up again at their pseudo paramedics, and was met with Leslie's icy stare. Dick staggered backwards at the weight of it, his heart skipping a beat, _he's_ only seen that look once before: when Steph 'died'. Feeling suddenly faint, Dick pawed at the wall behind him for purchase and slowly lowered himself to the floor of the bunker, landing with a huff as his legs finally gave out.

His head felt stuffy, his ears ringing with white noise. Feet appeared in front of him and he could faintly hear Damian say something, but he sounded so far away and Dick couldn't make out the words. It was as though they were underwater, all muted sounds pressure building up in his ears. Absently he registered the med bay door open and close, the quiet whoosh of its negative pressure cutting through his hearing like thunder.

Damian's feet left, only to be replaced with highly polished Oxfords; splattered with blood. A hand rested on his shoulder and suddenly the world came back into focus,

"Master Richard! Are you alright?" Alfred was saying, his voice quiet but insistent.

Dick sucked in a deep breath

"I… no, Tim, is he?"

"Master Timothy is recovering, though he has lost a lot of blood and gave us quite the scare. Doctor Thompkins is with him now. He'll be okay."

The world seemed to right then; he could feel the air in his lungs as he inhaled, feel the cold of the metal floor beneath him as he sat, slumped, outside the med bay's door. He was finally able to focus on Alfred patiently crouching beside him, no longer in scrubs from the med bay, but in his usual suite, stained red from when, Dick supposed, Tim was first brought in.

"Alfred! I, I'm sorry I don't know what came over me," he said as he moved to get up, though a wave of dizziness had him leaning on Alfred more than he desired.

"Careful now Master Richard, I do believe you were having a panic attack, you'll do yourself no good if you push yourself too hard. We'll get you sat in the observation room, so you can keep an eye on Master Timothy."

"I… okay." He lets himself be guided to the observation room, his legs too weak to get there by himself, almost collapsing into one of the chairs when Alfred tells him he can do so.

The observation room is attached to the med bay by full glass panels, and Dick spends what must be at least an hour just staring though the panes at Tim as Dr Thompkins and Alfred continue to stabilise him. There are so many tubes and monitors and it's almost overwhelming to him just looking at Tim, so small and pale in comparison.

What felt like hours later; he door finally opened. Dick expected to see Alfred, Bruce, or even Damian. He did not expect to see Jason, still fully kitted out in his Red Hood getup, walk through the door. He was missing his hood, sprouting instead a red domino. Dick gasped as he turned round fully, his suit was covered in blood, the harsh light making it glisten against even the dark of his body piece.

"I don't have time for you Dickhead," Jason huffed as he closed the observation room door. He looked like Dick felt; worn out, exhausted and asleep on his feet. He made his way to the other side of the room, as far away from Dick as possible whilst still being able to sit down. His relationship with Jason was… not exactly in the best place, but he thought it was at least better than this.

They sat in excruciating silence, the beeping from Tim's heart monitor the only thing preventing the quiet from ringing in his ears.

"Would you have picked up?" Jason asked, finally, still not looking at him.

"W- what?" He stammered back, confusion creasing his brow.

"If he had called, would you have picked up the damn phone or just told yourself you'd call him back later?"

The implication is obvious, he's not been there for Tim, and not just that, he's not even made his little brother a semblance of a priority. He knew, when he hadn't seen Tim out on patrol, he _knew_ Bruce had done something Bruce-like with him, but he hadn't cared at the time to check in. No he just assumed Tim would call on him if he needed. Which, again, why he would do that is beyond him, not after everything. But,

" _You'll always been there for me."_

So why, when push came to shove, hadn't he?

It hurts. Deep in his chest. The shooting pain turns to a dull ache the more he thinks about _not being there_ for Tim. He'd promised himself, he'd promised _Tim_ it would never happen again, that he'd always be there to back him up. Dick can't help but see the smile that never quite reached his brother's eyes as he nodded his response.

God he's such a dick.

"Why do you care?" He asked finally, the silence between them becoming suffocating.

"What?"

Dick turns to face him, moving his entire body so he doesn't see Tim in the corner of his eye and chicken out of this conversation; as though he doesn't need the reminded that Tim would hate them talking about him behind his back.

"About Tim." Dick narrows his eyes, pausing to try an judge anything his can from Jason's reaction. The man never moves, not even a flinch, merely continues to stare at Tim. "You've never cared about his well-being before, in fact you've tried to kill him twice, almost succeeded too." He was getting angry, his voice agitated, his tone sharp. The little Alfred in his head told him to calm down, that his anger would solve nothing, but boy did it finally feel good to vent to Jason about his misgivings. "Do you even know how long he was on life support after Titans Tow-"

Jason punched the metal bench they were sitting on, the sound startling them both into silence.

Jason looks at him, face blank, the domino hiding any emotion from his eyes. He doesn't speak, at least not at first, but his shoulder sag under a weight Dick can't even come close to understanding. When Jason does finally break his silence he sounds tired, like someone who's waiting for an end.

"Did you know he's been patrolling Crime Alley?"

"He said something about moving there," Dick mumbled, confused, "I've been meaning to go over and see his new place I've just been,"

"Busy." Jason finished for him, his voice as cold as the Gotham night. Even with the domino Dick can _feel_ Jason roll his eyes.

"He's… been patrolling Crime Alley?" Dick asked, hoping Jason would take his metaphorical olive branch.

"Yeah, and the place is better for it, ya' know?" he said, smiling. "I had a kid come up to me the other day when I was delivering some medical supplied to one of Leslie's clinics. She was babbling on and on about how one of the Bats had saved her from the 'bad men' and then walked her home via Gretta's for milkshakes.

"Her eyes were so bright with hope, it's something I haven't seen from those kids in years. The Red Hood can only do so much, I can make them safer… but I can't inspire them like you can. Guess I just appreciated him making the effort."

Jason paused, turning back to Tim and Dick could hear his breath stuttering in the silence,

"Then to hear him over the comms, guess I left I owed him something."

"What do you mean, hearing him over the comms? With Babs away, B working and you… doing whatever it is you do in silence, it's only been me and Dami over the comms all night."

"Bruce didn't give him a new communicator Dick, he was on the old line-"

Dick felt his world fall out from under him for the second time that night.

"What are you taking about, Bruce wouldn't do that… why would Bruce do that?"

Jason laughed, "You've obviously never been on his shit list enough Dick. Cutting off communication, isolating you, it's B's classic 'I'm disappointed in you' move."

"You're lying, Bruce wouldn't do that to _Tim_." The insinuation was there and Dick caught Jason's flinch at his implication that Bruce would cut him off.

"What else do you think retaking control of Wayne E was about? If you don't believe me, Birdbrain, I'm sure Babs left her station running if you need proof."

Dick was out the door as soon as he finished, Bruce wouldn't do something so fucking foolish, he refused to believe it.

* * *

As always Babs foresaw them having to use the Clock Tower in her absence, leaving the clock window with such a pick-able lock was practically an open invitation to the family. Even so, he slipped in as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb anything that could cause her unneeded problems when she got back. There was no way to completely hide his intrusion, but the least he could do was be courteous.

The station, at least the one recording the comms, was one of the easiest to use in the building. Babs' had once said it was to make sure it was 'Dick proof', and given his track record with some of the newer batcomputer functions, that was a very good idea.

The night's communicator recordings were all easily accessible; for both the new and old comm systems. Now he just had to find the correct time, which, in theory, should be easy, he just had to look at the recording for where the sound waves began. The old system should be silent, lest for the odd hack.

Pinpointing where the audio began he started playback,

" _Red Robin to all points, I could use some assistance in an alley off 5th and Hamilton."_

Dick could hear the pain in his voice and he immediately knew what Jason had said was true, Bruce hadn't given Tim a new communicator. He clenched his fist so hard he almost broke the earpiece he was pressing to his ear.

Then the painful gasps started, Tim had clicked his communicator on and then left the line open. They'd all done it, either so preoccupied by a fight or just needing to constantly relay information, in Tim's situation, it's what Bruce taught them all.

That didn't stop it from breaking his heart one grunt at a time.

He almost dropped the earpiece when he heard Tim scream. No longer able to hold back tears, Dick all but collapsed, sobbing, in the desk chair Babs' kept around for one of them to visit. The grunts became softer then, and if he couldn't hear Tim's wet rasps he'd have sworn he'd dropped him communicator. When he heard the tell-tale sound of a metal pipe clanging off a concrete floor he thought the worst must be over.

He was wrong.

" _Kid, c'mon, please don't die on me. Tim, I need you to hold on buddy, I'm gonna get you home 'kay?"_

" _Bruce?"_

" _Tim, can you hear me? I need to move you okay?"_

" _Bruce… you came."_

" _Fuck."_

Dick thought he might be sick, his stomach was churning, his chest was painfully tight.

" _Oh thank God. Hey man, I need to borrow your car! Thanks, I'll bring it back,"_

Dick sat in silence listening to his brothers' drive to the bunker, each wet breath from Tim tying another knot in his stomach. They knew Babs was away, why didn't they have anyone monitoring the line for goodness sake. It was defunct, they didn't have the man power, they were busy; excuses immediately sprung to mind, and faced with the reality that they caused his little brother to be sitting lifeless in a hospital bed, Dick couldn't find a real reason in any of them.

They should have had someone monitoring the lines, that they hadn't even set it up for Alfred was a whole new level of careless. He threw the earpiece onto the desk, and had just enough forethought to make a copy of the recording before streaking back into the night. He was glad he'd remembered to pick up the cowl before coming out, he needed to punch some thugs in the face.

* * *

When he returned to the bunker it was not nearly as quiet as he left it. It seemed Bruce had come down to the basement since he'd been out, and now he and Jason were in a shouting match.

"- to tell me my son had died!"

"Your son? That's fucking rich. If he was your son you wouldn't have fucking 'forgotten' to give him his new communicator, you wouldn't have taken away the very thing he devotes his fucking life to, and you most definitely wouldn't have _**waited three fucking hours after being told he was dead to come and see for your-fucking-self**_."

Jason had marched up to Bruce during his tirade, they were pretty evenly matched in terms of physical size and yet Jason seemed so much larger than Bruce at that moment. Jason must have ditched his domino at some point because his bare face was the angriest Dick had seen it in years; all reddened cheeks and bared teeth, there was a fierceness to his eyes that was indescribably 'Jason'.

"Does he really mean that little to you." Jason continued. Though his voice was no louder than a whisper the sudden quiet seemed to amplify his words. He sounded exhausted, his voice small and uncertain, as though a part of him was wanting so desperately for his words to not be true.

Bruce just stood there, expressionless.

"Can't even answer, typical." Jason said, the anger returning, but instead of going another round with Bruce he backed off towards the med bay. "I'll be with Tim, _don't_ join us."

As Jason stormed off Dick turned his attention back to Bruce, he knew the older man knew he was there, and so he waited for him to explain himself. But he doesn't. He simply locks eyes with Dick for a couple of seconds and walks, calmly, back to the elevator.

Nothing, nada, zilch. No sigh of any sort of justifications of his actions, typical Bruce.

Dick could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him, too. Like lava out of a volcano, it was a slow but steady build-up of emotions, and though he could tell he'd not yet reached that tipping point, he was getting fucking close.

He couldn't be dealing with Bruce and his stunted emotions, not when he had far more important matters to attend to. Like being there for his brother when he woke up.

As Tim was, thankfully, no longer in life threatening condition, Alfred had allowed them to sit in the med-bay rather than in the observation room. Jason was already sitting on Tim's right, stripped down to just his undershirt and leggings, his hand barely grazing Tim's.

Dick took up residence at Tim's left, discarding the cowl on the back of the chair, but too exhausted to try to strip out of more of the armour. This time the silence wasn't heavy, or suffocating, but needed. Neither one knowing what to say but, rather, just being there for Tim.

"You know that injury he was faking?" Jason said, finally.

"Yeah."

"Apparently he's just done it for real."

Dick's heart skipped a beat, the injury was awful, yes, but they had been so lucky it wasn't worse. Tim could very easily be dead right now, Tim would be dead if not for Jason.

"Shit." Finally the tears come, whether in relief that his little brother is still there and fighting, or just that he was overwhelmed Dick will probably never know. He's already been through this pain once, he'd hoped never to go through it again, and yet here he is with another brother on his deathbed hanging by a thread.

"Yeah. Leslie's optimistic though, if he pulls through the next few days she should be fully recovered within three years."

Dick couldn't tell if Jason was being sincere or just using the dark sarcasm that was endearing all those years ago.

One thing was puzzling Dick,

"How did the bullet get through the armour?" he asked.

"Bruce." Came the reply, full of a bitter hatred that Dick didn't know if the pair could recover from. "As part of his 'dissuade Tim from patrolling as punishment' plan he took away his new armours, but Tim he, well he kept my old one, the one he found B in. Alfred said something about a stab wound creating a fault in the armour.

"He's really beating himself up about not noticing what B was doing."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"He has to know, in terms of culpability, he is the last person on the list, right?"

"This is the same Alfred Pennyworth we're talking about, right? The poor man would blame himself for everything that goes wrong in this house if he could." Jason said, with an amused huff, and went back to focusing his gaze just past Tim's hand.

"You don't have to stay you know." Dick said, after the pair had fallen back into comfortable silence. With his domino gone Dick could see the tenderness gleaming in his eyes as Jason looked down at Tim.

"I know, but I want to be here."


End file.
